A Mother's Heart
by Lyrena
Summary: Based on Hemingway's short story Soldier's Home, found in In Our Time, from the perspective of Kreb's mother. Written [19 Oct 2002]


She stood, waiting, in her good blue dress, the one with the sash that ties at the back. She had that nice matching scarf around her head too. With tears welling up in her eyes, she frantically waved her white handkerchief. It was all that she could do. As the bus rolled away in a cloud of dust, she smiled, and yelled, "I love you Harold! You be a good boy, you hear?" And then it was over. Eighteen years of raising her son had all come to this moment. Her boy was finally off to college. He would learn all the things he needed to know in order to become a man and succeed in the world. After the bus was so far gone that it was just a dot on the horizon, she walked back to the car with her husband. Her head was facing down toward the ground, and she breathed deeply. Her husband put one arm around her as they walked.

"Don't worry so much, Alice," he said. "Harold is a good boy, he can take care of himself. You know that. You taught him well. He will be happy and everything will be just fine, you'll see. So turn that frown upside down." He took his finger and gently pressed her nose, as if it was a button; it was something that always made her smile. They got into the car and drove off. Her hair was whipping about the back of her neck, despite the fact that she had tied it back with the scarf. The ride was relaxing, soothing. It made her forget about what else was going on in her life. For now, she could just stare out the window. Look at the storefronts, and at the people walking by.

Her husband looked up thoughtfully. "Listen, honey, I'm just going to drop you off at the house before I get back to work. I have a lot of things to take care of over there… okay?"

"Hmmm…oh, alright, Harry," she absentmindedly mumbled.

The ride back was a short one. They had only traveled to the bus depot on the outskirts of town, after all. They pulled up to their hose, and he stopped the car. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, went to the sidewalk, and then, without so much as a word, he was off again, down the road on his way back to work, waving his hand out the window.

Their house was nothing spectacular, but they were proud of it. They had worked very hard to get to where they were now, living comfortably. It was a cozy two-story house, with yellow siding, and flowerboxes with geraniums in the front windows. The grass was always neatly cut, and the flowers near the front steps were always tended to, at least during the season. She closed the gate behind her, walked down the little path, and went into the house. It was early yet, and Helen would not be home from school for a while. She took the time to straighten up; the place was in such a mess with Harold leaving for school and all. She went upstairs to his room and fixed up his bed, put his books away neatly on his shelves, and opened a window to let some air in. The curtains flowed a little bit, and things were so neat that it gave the room a feeling of emptiness.

"Pretty soon," she thought, "it won't seem as if there is anyone living here at all." With a sigh, she went back downstairs to start dinner.

Time was flying by, and Helen finally walked through the door.

"Mom, I'm home!" Helen exclaimed, as the door slammed behind her.

"I'm in the kitchen, sweetie. Could you give me a hand? I've got my arms full over here." Helen walked back to the kitchen and the two of them finished dinner just in time for Harry to return, and for them to eat as a family.

The next several months went by in this manner. Nothing out of the ordinary, except of course, that young Harold wasn't present. Helen excelled at her studies, Harry was working diligently, and everyone was happy. Things were finally "back on track," so to speak. She eventually got used to the idea that Harold was away, and she accepted it. He was doing well, just as Harry had told her he would. He even joined a fraternity. He has friends who are like his other family up there. He probably doesn't worry, so why should she? She has a loving family, a roof over her head, and God in her life. Things were well… for a while.

Then, Dear Uncle Sam decided to take her boy from safety. He took her Harold to the other side of the Atlantic, far, far, away, where the temptation to sin would be high, and there would be things that could shake his very fiber as a God-fearing individual. She didn't even get a chance to see him off; he left right from his school. This made her worry all the more. She couldn't even talk to him. Hopefully everything would turn out fine. Every night, just before she went to sleep, she knelt beside her bed and said her prayers. But now, they were mostly consumed with Harold.

"…Dear God, thank you for being in our lives. I pray that you will watch over my little Harold, and let him come back to me unharmed. Please watch over my Harold, I worry about him so. Let him resist sinful temptations, and come back to me alive. I know of the hardships that my own father spoke of during war. Please, Lord, help my boy. I want him to be safe… Amen."

She fell into a routine. Simple things would take her mind off of her problems. Be a good person. Watch over Harry and Helen. Be a good wife and mother. And pray. For prayer is good for the soul, and good for the souls of others. To follow God was to be a good person, Alice often thought. And that is what Alice was. She was a good person, caring and kind.

Sooner before later, on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, on the eleventh hour, victory was announced, and the boys began to return from Europe. First Gregory Parsons, and then John Lemma, and pretty soon nearly all the boys were back, except for Harold Krebs. Alice wondered constantly that her little Harold was lost forever and wasn't going to return. Or that, even worse, that he wasn't lost, and that he couldn't return, that something had happened, and he… wasn't coming back. Ever. Of course, she stayed with her prayers. She prayed that her Harold was all right, that he was just lost, that nothing terrible had happened. She stayed with her routines. She was still a loving wife and mother. But inside, she worried. That's just the way she was. Two years went by and there still was no sign of Harold. All the other fellows were settling down, getting good jobs, and becoming prominent men in society. But not her Harold. She had just about given up all hope of his return when he came back in town, and that nondescript bus, just as quietly as when he left.

The first couple of days were a bit rough, with everyone adjusting to his return, but she was altogether elated that her son was back safe, out of harms way. After a while, she noticed that he seemed different. Introverted. Non-social. Depressed. He stayed in his room nearly all day. Who knows what he could do all day up there? Read, or stare at the wall? She was worried yet again. Sure, he did come home to her safe. But what did that matter if he was just going to mope around and throw his life away? Harry was feeling concern too. She remembered what he had said last night before they went to bed.

"I don't know… it seems as if the boy has lost all sense of motivation. He has no goals in life… I'm not here to suffocate the boy; I just want him to get on with his life. Get a job. It doesn't have to be anything fancy. All work is honest. He can work his way to a better position. And why isn't he taking and interest in any of the young ladies around here? They're all very nice girls. And attractive, too. Heck, I'd even let him take the car for a date if he wanted. I just think that he should move on already. I want him to have a chat with me. Send him down to my office, would you? It might instill in him a sense of responsibility. What do you think, Alice?"

She knew there must have been hard times and horrible things over there during the war, yet if the other guys were doing fine, and starting their good lives, then why couldn't he also? She knew that she could talk with him, just give him a little push in the right direction. He needs to start early in his life to get ahead.

"Tomorrow, Harry," she said. "Tomorrow I will talk with him. Then everything will turn out nicely." She switched off the light before they fell asleep

After he had finished her breakfast, she sent Helen off to school early so she could be alone and talk with Harold.

"Have you decided what you are going to do yet, Harold?" she asked carefully.

"No," came his short reply. This worried her only further. "He must not even care!" she thought, frenzied, more worried than ever. She was going to try and remain levelheaded. She didn't want to pressure him. She wanted to steer him in the right direction. Helen was doing great in her own right; it was only fair that Harold should have the same incentive. She would try and remain cool.

"Well, don't you think it's about time?" she said, with just a little hint of worry escaping.

"I hadn't really thought about it."

"God has some work for everyone to do," she said. "There can be no idle hands in His Kingdom."

"I'm not in His Kingdom," he said. His comment offended Alice. She wanted to give him a stern lecture, to yell and confront him. "Don't do it, don't lose your cool. He will never take what you say to heart if he doesn't think he can trust you," she thought.

"We are all of us in His Kingdom," she said, nonchalantly. Harold blushed, and looked down towards the tiled floor. Alice sighed.

"I've worried about you so much, Harold," she said. "I know the temptations you must have been exposed to. I know how weak men are. I know what your own dear grandfather, my own father, told us about the Civil War, and I have prayed for you. I pray for you all day long, Harold… Your father is worried too. He thinks you have lost your ambition, that you haven't got a definite aim in life. Charley Simmons, who is just about your age, is has a good job and is about to be married. The boys are all settling down; they're all determined to get somewhere; you can see that boys like Charley Simmons are on their way to being really a credit to the community." Harold's look was fixed to the table.

"Please, don't look that way, Harold. You know that we love you and I want to tell you for your own good how matters stand. Your father does not want to hamper your freedom. He thinks you should be allowed to drive the car. If you want to take out some of the nice girls out riding with you, we are only too pleased. We want you to enjoy yourself. But you are going to have to settle down to work, Harold. You father doesn't care what you start in at. All work is honorable, he says. But you've got to make a start at something. He asked me to speak to you this morning and then you can stop and see him at his office." She took a deep breath. She hoped that she was getting through to him.

"Is that all," her son said. She hoped that he was listening to her.

"Yes. Don't you love your mother, dear boy?"

"No," came his succinct reply. She looked at him wide eyed. That was not the reply she has expected but it was all she needed to hear. Immediately her eyes welled up, and despite her best efforts, she started crying. She just couldn't believe that her own son, her dear Harold, could say such a thing to her. Not after the way she cared for him. Not after the ways she worried about him.

"I don't love anybody," he said. That didn't help any. She continued sobbing.

Her son came over to her and put his arm around her.

"I didn't mean it," he told her. "I was just angry at something, I didn't mean I didn't love you. Can't you believe me, mother?" She didn't know what to believe. She didn't want to believe it, but then, why did he say it anyway? It hurt too much. She shook her head no.

"Please, please mother. Please believe me." What was she going to do? She hoped that he was really truly sorry, that he didn't really mean it, that he didn't know what he was saying. But inside, she couldn't help but fell that what he said was true. Yet she couldn't say anything. He was her son after all. She would always love him and there was nothing that could change that. They needed to move on.

"All right, I believe you, Harold." She was all choked up. She wanted him to do well in life. She only hoped that he would understand what she was saying. As her son kissed her hair, she raised her red, wet, face.

"I'm your mother. I held you next to my heart when you were a tiny baby." She would always have a special place for her boy in her heart, even if he didn't have a place for her in his.

"I know, Mummy. I'll try and be a good boy for you," he said dutifully. She certainly hoped so. She had so many wishes for Harold. He should be happy, and what she wanted for him would make him happy.

"Will you kneel and pray with me, Harold?" she asked. They knelt down, and she began to silently pray. After a bit, she opened one eye, and noticed that he was just kneeling there.

"Now you pray, Harold."

"I cant."

"Try, Harold."

"I cant." She could not force him to pray, even though she wished he would. But she could pray for him, and hope that the dear good Lord would see fit to help her son.

"Do you want me to pray for you?"

"Yes." That settled it. She would continue to pray for her son. And since he wanted her to do it, it made her feel all the better. This was something that she could do for him. They stood up, and Harold made his way out of the door. At least he was leaving the house. That was something. Maybe he is making a turn in the right direction.

With a lot of prodding, Harold eventually got a nice job working in a bank. Hw was now a teller. He would, in time, work his way up. And he was seeing that nice girl Sarah that lived down on McKinley Street. Things were looking up. Harold was doing fine, even if he didn't think so. She smiled to herself, just as she was getting on her knees to pray for him.


End file.
